


I'm Here

by Five_Foot_Hobbit



Category: DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: Baby Huey Dewey Louie, Della's whereabouts still unknown, Donald is best dad, Donald is still hurting, First Ducktales 2017 story I wrote, Gen, Hope to have brought the feels, Inspired by adorable baby picture of Huey Dewey Louie, Slight headcannon on how Scrooge is involved with The Spear of Selene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-20
Updated: 2018-05-20
Packaged: 2019-05-09 08:02:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14712248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Five_Foot_Hobbit/pseuds/Five_Foot_Hobbit
Summary: A calm night in Duckburg Harbor may seem peaceful on the outside but inside a certain houseboat two ducks deal with loss and unanswered questions





	I'm Here

A full moon cast its gentle light over Duckburg harbor, where a dingy but well-kept houseboat rocked on its mooring. The waves slapped the hull in a soothing rhythm, set to the tune of a watery lullaby for weary fishermen walking the docks after a long day at sea. Inside the houseboat a cuckoo clock tick tocked away the minutes; closing in on midnight. A single lamp lit up the tight living quarters and shadowed the features of Donald Duck as he sat hunched in a battered and patched up easy chair. 

His feathers in disarray and the bags heavily set under his eyes depicted a duck beyond tired but had sleep eluding his overworked mind and expended emotions. He sighed softly through his beak, looking quite exhausted for a bachelor, though if you peeked in his room where the tell-tale bars of a crib stood you get a better notion for the duck’s exhaustion. But the crib holding three precious bundles wasn’t the main cause of Donald’s current slumped stature. Those bundles belonged to the woman in the photo Donald clutched in his hands and the real reason for his heavy sighs. 

“Oh sis, I wish Uncle Scrooge hadn’t done what he did. Then you’d still be here with them…with me.” The duck said, straining his already raspy voice as his fingers shook the photo. It was one of him with his face smashed in his and his sister’s birthday cake, with his sister having been the one to put his face there in the first place. Her face forever frozen in a look of jovial sibling hilarity. Sure, after she’d let Donald up he’d promptly screamed and threw his signature tantrum, but all Della did was laugh more and hand him the serving knife to cut the cake. 

Now all he wanted was to hear her laugh, or just her soft humming while she rocked her babies. Donald pressed the picture to his temple; his shoulders began to shiver with tears trickling out of his eyes as the memory turned the white-hot blade still lodged in his heart. 

As Donald cried softly in the living room, in his room, with the curtains drawn open to let the moonlight fall sweetly on three sleeping forms. Huey, Dewey, and Louie were cuddled up to one another. Huey was the closest to Donald’s bed as he tended to be the least loud when he cried, Dewey slept between his brothers, and Louie was the closest to the window, allowing his downy white feathers to practically glow in the natural night light. 

All three breathed peacefully, dreaming of warm and fluffy feathers, gentle arms holding them; a rocking motion and sweet sounds to keep them asleep. But then one of the triplets stirred. Something was off, and he could tell. He opened his eyes, blinked twice, and stared up at the mobile that hung from the crib headboard. 

The hand-made object had been crafted by their mother and uncle. The figures that swayed when the mobile turned were a duck, a moon, a plane, and a boat. There had been a fifth figure, but it had been ripped from the mobile; now, an empty space was all that remained. 

The duckling turned his head to the right and found one of the ducklings that looked just like him with his pacifier in his mouth; then turned to the left where an identical ducking sucked his fingers.   
Dewey then realized what was off. Where were the big duckies? 

He could only remember slight things of them at this point, being just under 6 months old. One has a funny voice that made him and the other ducklings giggle; the other…the other was soft and warm and made him feel safe. 

But as he looked in the shadowy room, even with the strange light coming from the strange wall box, he couldn’t find the big ducky with the nice voice and soft feathers. Dewey struggled to make his limbs move but they were confined, like a mummy in bandages, in a blue blanket and kept him from getting to what he wanted. 

“G-G-Gah!” He cried as a limb managed to break free. Only instead of his arm it was his leg and he accidently kicked out and hit the duckling to his right, causing him to whimper and begin struggling like he had. 

The object in his mouth fell from his beak and a pitiful whimper escaped. Dewey was then struck with a memory of him and the other two making loud noises and bringing the big duckies to them. Opening his mouth, he let out a scream that woke his other sibling from his dreams and caused him to bellow louder than the other two at present. 

As the three boys cried another light came on, hurting their eyes and making them all cry harder. 

“Shhh, shh boys, boys. It’s okay, Unca’ Donald’s here.” One by one the boys were lifted into the warm arms of their uncle and rocked and bounced until Huey and Louie were satisfied that everything was okay and promptly went back to sleep. 

Dewey, however, was not as easily swayed as his brothers, and when all three were placed back in the crib, tucked back up like little burritos, he blinked up at the big ducky with the funny voice. The older duck saw the teary look in his nephew’s eyes and smiled. 

“Aww, somebody’s not tired anymore?” Donald chuckled as he picked Dewey up and patted him on the back before taking a quick peek in the duckling’s diaper. 

“Hmmm. A diaper change might be just what you need.” The older duck carried the sniffling baby to the dresser next to his bed and laid him on a soft mat to change him on. Once Dewey had the soaked diaper removed, something his kicked his legs in frustration over, Donald ran a cool wipe to clean him up, making his middle nephew cry out; tears matting his cheek feathers further. 

“Whoopsie, sorry ‘bout that Dewey. Huh, better think of investing in a wipe warmer.” Donald thought to himself as he applied a generous cloud of baby powder, making him and Dewey sneeze at the same time. 

“Gesundheit.” Donald smiled and taped the duckling into a fresh diaper. Dewey sighed and just laid there, tears collecting in his eyes again. After Donald fixed the boy’s shirt and picked him up he noticed his nephew still looked unhappy. 

“Maybe you’re hungry now? Though knowing if you’re hungry then your brothers will be too.” Donald started out the door. Before he could turn the corner into the kitchen Dewey couldn’t take it and gripped his uncle’s shirt tightly causing him to stop and look down. 

The tiny duckling looked up at the big ducky and tried telling him that he wanted the other big ducky. The one with the warm feathers who said things to him in a sweet voice. Who held him when he was scared, changed him when he was dirty, and rocked him when he was sad. 

He remembered now, what that big ducky called themselves. He wanted mommy!

“Gaaaah gahh!” He cried and flailed his arms in all directions, looking with his eyes too. But in the dim lamp light and harsh bedroom light he could only see the big ducky holding him, not mommy. 

“Ohhh, I wish I knew what you wanted.” Donald sighed tiredly and walked towards the kitchen, hoping a warm bottle would put Dewey at ease for a couple hours. At least that’s what worked on him and Della, according to Grandma Duck anyway.

On the way he passed his chair where the picture of him and his sister had been forgotten in his haste to tend to his nephews. At the sight of it Dewey let out a strangled cry and the older duck just about sent him over his back in shock. 

“What, what is it?!” Donald looked around frantically while Dewy continued his struggling. He pulled his nephew from his shoulder and held him in front of his face. The duckling grabbed his beak and cried out again in a vain attempt at speech. But it was useless; unless Dewey spontaneously learned to speak, or Donald could understand baby talk neither would get what the other was trying to tell them. 

“Maybe you just wanted to be held for a while. I gotta sit down anyway, you and your brothers are making me exhausted.” Donald turned to take a seat in his chair and spotted the picture. Picking it up he turned back around and sat down. He carefully maneuvered his nephew to the crook of his left arm and then pulled the lever on the chair, extending the foot rest.   
He then proceeded to lay Dewey on his chest in hopes that his heartbeat would calm his nephew and put him back to sleep. At least that’s what Della said was supposed to happen. Plus, all those parenting books he’d been stocking up on. Which reminded him. In every book on child care he’d read, many more than once to the point their pages were creased, highlighted, and sticky noted more than a Junior Woodchuck’s Guidebook.

That same line over and over in all those books stated, or rather screamed, that when babies sleep then so should the parents/caregivers. Even if you weren’t that tired you should at least rest so you could be ready to handle the next task your baby demanded out of you. Donald had firmly blacked out “demanded” and any synonyms of that word from all his parenting books. How the authors could even think that a baby was being demanding when all they knew was what they needed at that moment and that the people who brought them into this world or were raising them would tend to their needs with nothing but love and kindness. Those writers probably weren’t even parents. 

Dewey tried getting up again bringing Donald back from his thoughts of sleep. Donald quietly soothed the fidgety duckling, his nephew’s tiny beak pushed into the fabric of his shirt.   
The duckling clutched the material angrily and was about to start up his crying again to express said anger when he saw the thing the big ducky was holding, and he froze. Mommy was with the big ducky, pushing him into some colorful thing and was smiling. 

He wanted to touch, whatever it was. thinking that mommy was there, and it would feel like her. 

“G-Gah.” Dewey’s teeny fingers reached to touch the photo and Donald brought it close enough that he could.

“So that’s what you want…you want your mommy right Dew?” When Donald mentioned the magic name, Dewey turned his attention on him. His big eyes got even bigger, his beak twitched into his first smile of the night, and he babbled twice as much. 

He began patting the picture and trying to grab it in his small fist. Donald held it away, causing the duckling to pout and whine loudly. 

“Shhh, no need for that. Here you go but be gentle okay Dewey.” Donald handed the picture to his nephew and watched in wonder as the barely 6-month-old held the picture like it really was his mommy.   
The scene was a kodak moment, but Donald wasn’t about to grab his camera and disturb the scene of son and mother interacting. Well, as much as they could right now.   
After a minute of holding the photo, Dewey turned back to his uncle and gurgled something out. Donald sighed as he grasped a little what the duckling was asking.

“I-I’m sorry Dewey. I don’t know where your mommy is.” The confused look on his face reminded Donald that he was trying to explain to a baby that his mommy was gone. So, to simplify it Donald pointed to the picture of Della. 

“This is mommy see?” Dewey nodded, knowing right away who she was. 

“And this is me, Uncle Donald.” Dewey looked at the big ducky in the picture then at the one he was laying on. Yes, those two were the same, even if the one in the picture was covered in colorful stuff. 

“You see me but don’t see mommy here, right?” Donald tried again. Dewey turned his head and tears welled in his eyes. Where was mommy. Big duck—err Uncle Donald was here both in the square thing and holding him, but mommy was only in the square thing. 

“Gah goo?” Dewey sniffled sadly and reached up a fist to rub his eye. Donald gathered the duckling in his arms, not caring about the photograph, and held him. 

“I-I don’t know where she’s gone, or when she’ll be back, but no matter what I’ll never leave you or your brothers Dewey. And if I know your mommy she’ll be back before you even know it. 

“Wherever she is she’s probably missing you three as much as you miss her…I-I know I do.” Donald had been trying all night not to cry in front of his nephews but the heartbreaking look on Dewey’s face broke the dam he’d constructed, and he held him tighter while he let out a good, loud cry. 

Dewey was shocked as his Uncle Donald started crying, did he miss his mommy too? Dewey looked at the strange piece of paper with his mommy and uncle on it; seeing them together and now they were apart. What if his uncle suddenly was gone too and was only left in the strange paper?! It was too much for the duckling to handle in one night anymore. 

“W-Waaaaaah!” Dewey sobbed, letting himself get louder and clutch his uncle tighter, fearing he’d disappear too. Feeling his shirt grow wet Donald stifled his tears for a moment to look at his nephew, crying again. He sniffed back the rest of his tears, attempting to pull himself together for the duckling’s sake, and let Dewey have his long cry. 

Resting back in the chair, Donald started rubbing Dewey’s back and hummed the tune Della would, which came from a lullaby their mother and later Grandma Duck, always sang to him and Della when they were little. 

Over his cries, Dewey heard a familiar sound but from an unfamiliar voice. He abruptly stopped crying to find that his uncle was looking at him with the saw warm look mommy gave him and making that soothing noise too. 

Hiccupping a few times Dewey listened closely to the melody as his tears were gently wiped away by his uncle’s soft hands. 

“There, it was relieving to get that cry out huh? Nothing makes the heart less heavy than a good cry, that’s what your Grandma Duck always says.” Donald smiled as Dewey opened his mouth like he was about to agree; instead let out the biggest yawn he could. 

Then he settled his head back down on his uncle’s shirt, clutching a handful before stuffing some in his mouth.   
Donald chuckled softly and made sure his nephew didn’t catch any buttons before using his free hand to pull up a small throw blanket and bring it over the both of them. 

“You three drive me crazy and in an hour you’ll all want milk. But until then g’night Dewey, you deserved it.” Donald whispered and kissed his nephew’s soft feathered head, his breath brushing over the small feathery tufts of hair on his head. 

Dewey said nothing but continued sucking on his uncle’s shirt as he dreamt of himself, the other two ducklings, his uncle, and of course his mommy, all sharing a big hug. That thought kept him happily asleep. Donald sighed in relief. Finally, sleep could overtake him. He was just tired enough now that a storm could blow through the harbor and he wouldn’t even bat an eye.

Unless that storm was Huey and Louie waking up, and having Dewey joined in their crying chorus for milk.

**Author's Note:**

> This was the first Ducktales 2017 story I wrote and I couldn't be prouder of it! Now I get to share it and get critiqued about my sub par writing and story telling.
> 
> Be kind and supportive and I hope I gave some people the feels. Give me Donald and baby nephew interactions Ducktales!
> 
> Thank you all again!
> 
> P.S. Three guesses as to what was taken off that mobile


End file.
